Caught By The Light
by Sky And Spirit
Summary: All people need to die someday. They just didn't realize it would happen right then. Will they catch the one responsible before it's too late? No slash.


**Yes, so this is the first chapter of my first ever story, _Caught In The Light. _Hopefully people will enjoy.**

_A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. -Stewart Alsop  
><em>

After all these years, he still wasn't sure what had happened.

The man gulped quietly as he stared at the four people on the screen, each showing him a different picture and person. Once again, he had to choose. Once again, the blood would be on his hands once more.

The man behind him-or monster, if you'd prefer, tightened the cords around his neck and legs. "Make a choice." He said in a voice tinged with both promises of violence and threats.

"I-I'm deciding." The man said in a wheeze, the cord cutting his precious supply of oxygen as he nearly forced himself to look at the images on the monitor. Each of them looked young, around sixteen to seventeen. _Carter would have been sixteen a few days ago. _He realized suddenly, and a pang of grief shot through his body. He couldn't do this. Not with Carter in his head.

"Well?" The monster said, tightening the cord further. The man couldn't speak above a whisper now, but he didn't care. He just couldn't choose between them, and prepared for his fate, blackness enveloping his mind. Then he heard a whisper.

_Choose him… _The voice said, barely heard over the never-ending hum of the computer. As if he was possessed, the man felt his arm rising to point at one of the teens.

As his hand slowly rose to point to his choice, he knew he should have just let the monster kill him. Why, then, was he going to decide once more on the delicate matter of life and death? That, he could not answer, but he had a feeling that this was just a stage in a larger, more intricate game that he was just a pawn in, a game that meant more to some people than he would ever understand.

All this went through his head as he finished raising his hand. "Kill…that one." The man said, barely comprehending what he had just done. The monster nodded in approval.

"Hmm…yes." The monster said. He then roughly dragged the man by the cord to a small, dank cell at the back of the room. "It is time to do the will of God." He murmured mostly to himself as he got his sniper rifle and looked at the man, grinning. "See you later."

As the monster left, locking the heavy metal door in his wake, the man didn't do much but look at the monitor and the boy he chose to die.

* * *

><p>It was a bright, beautiful sunny day at the Palm Woods, the home of potential superstars. As usual, the lobby was crowded with wannabes, fresh new boy bands, and aspiring actors.<p>

The elevator gave a slight ding as it slid open to reveal four boys crowded in the elevator, all of them around sixteen years of age, coming into the already jampacked lobby, each teen carrying pool gear.

"Hurry you guys! At this rate, the pool will be filled by now!" One of them whined, unknowingly knocking down a few kids with his inflatables.

Another one sighed. "Oh, be patient, will you?" he said, patting his friend on the back in reassurance, the end of the lobby in sight.

The other teen jumped at this sight, running as fast as he could to the prize. "Last one in the pool is-"he started.

The others didn't need to be told twice as they all ran to the pool, two of them cannonballing into the cool water below, splashing the other two with water.

"Oh, come on!" one of them said, running his fingers through his hair. "I just got my hair cleaned and dried after yesterday!" he complained. His companion simply shook his head, sending water droplets flying everywhere.

"You mean the orange juice incid-" His friend started, smirking. He was quickly cut off by his companion putting his finger in front of his face.

"I don't want to talk about it." he said seriously, shuddering at the remnant smell of orange juice and mud in his long (and gorgeous, as he called it) hair. The other boy looked at him incredulously.

"Seriously, dude, you treat your hair like it's the most important thing on earth. It's not healthy." The other teen said, clearly exasperated.

The other one smiled at him. "Don't call it just the hair." He reminded him. "It's The Face." He then handed his companion a mirror. "Hold that up for me, will you?"

His companion sighed, but held the mirror in front of his face as he started fussing about his wet hair and clothes. It wasn't like it was not commonplace, after all. In fact, ever since they met each other, this was ordinary.

It was a bright, beautiful, ordinary sunny day at the Palm Woods.

Which is why it made no sense that sixteen-year-old Logan Mitchell, the boy who wanted to become a doctor, the boy who wanted to go to college, the boy who was part of the inseparable foursome Big Time Rush, the boy that had his whole life ahead of him, was suddenly was shot in the head, the mirror that he held for his friend James Diamond falling on the newly blood-splattered pool tiles and shattering into three pieces.

**So, yeah. Logan's dead. Yay? (Sorry, just one of those hurt Logan fangirls.)**


End file.
